And in soft raptures waste the day
by nobleanchor
Summary: A depository of scenes from ever after. Fluff, parenting, and general domestic bliss. Modern AU. Ratings vary from chapter to chapter.
1. Things

**A/N:** So this is a place for me to put some scenes that have been spilling out of my head and making my doc manager rather cluttered. I'll leave it to you to decide when and where they belong. I'll also be jumping around on timelines, so characters that exist in some stories might not exist in others. I'm still actively writing all of my other stories, but this will hopefully help fill the gaps between updates.

* * *

"Arthur... Arthur!"

If there is such a thing as a whispered shout, his wife has mastered it. He springs one eyelid open to find her gaze on him, shining with amusement.

His sleepy answering hum is low and undetected.

She's biting her lip in an expression years have taught him to identify as her pre-squealing face, when she is just barely holding back a rush of emotion.

"We made a thing," she whispers, beaming at him in all of her beautiful, frizzy, exhausted glory.

His lips stretch into an answering grin and he tightens his hold on her hand, resting just below the small, sleeping bundle between them on the narrow bed.

"I know," he chuckles softly. "It's really weird, isn't it?"

Their attention shifts to the thing in question.

"She's like an alien, or something," Gwen giggles.

"I hope not," he jokes. "Since I'm fairly sure I put her there."

She waggles her eyebrows in response.

"Although...her head is a little funny looking..." he says after a moment of consideration.

"Shh! That's my spawn you're talking about," she grins. "She can have whatever-shaped head she wants."

Arthur's hand hovers light as a feather over his daughter's tiny middle before he lays it there gently. As Gwen's hand comes to rest next to his to complete the soft gradient, they fall into an awed silence at the strange magnificence of things.


	2. No Instinct

"Who's that man?" Gwen chants, bouncing her daughter with each syllable. "Who's that man? Is that your uncle?"

Her daughter merely stares at Elyan with detached curiosity, chubby fingers shoved in her mouth.

"El, come here, you have to hold her or she's going to think you're weird."

"Uh, maybe later we could—" Elyan is visibly uncomfortable. He thinks his niece is adorable, but he has almost no experience holding children. Especially small children.

"Get over here now and hold my daughter," Gwen commands, and Arthur snickers.

Elyan throws a glare in Arthur's direction, but the latter merely raises his eyebrows. They're both familiar with this side of Gwen, and how impossible she is to refuse.

"Okay, jeez," he says, inching forward until he's hovering close by.

Gwen stands slowly, eyes fixed on her daughter's face with a smile. "Scout, this is your uncle Elyan. You remember him?"

"Of course she doesn't! She was barely two weeks old last time I saw her," Elyan says.

Gwen gives him another threatening look before transferring Scout carefully into his awkward hold.

"Support her head," she instructs him, and Elyan rolls his eyes.

"I know _that_ much."

He looks down at the infant in his hands and she's staring up at him with a new fascination, still chewing on her fingers and drooling down her cheek. It dribbles onto his arm but he dares not say anything or make a move in protest at the risk of incurring his sister's wrath.

"There," Gwen says proudly. "See? She loves you. Even if you are a terrible uncle that only visits once every six months."

Arthur chuckles from across the room, observing the scene with amusement. He knows better than to get involved, but it doesn't stop him from enjoying it.

Elyan shifts her slightly to readjust his arms, and she suddenly starts to cry. "Oh god," he panics, "What did I do? What do I—?"

It becomes a full blown wail, and Gwen tries to shush her.

"Oh, who's a little princess?" Percival's voice gives them a start as he returns from the toilet. He comes straight to Elyan to take Scout, cradling her expertly against his shoulder with his gigantic arms.

He bounces and shushes softly, and within moments she's making small grunting sounds as she settles contentedly against him.

"How the hell did you do that?" Elyan asks, agape.

Percival scowls. "I held her like you're supposed to," he answers as if Elyan had asked the most inane question he's ever heard.

Elyan shakes his head. "That's it, I'm hopeless. I've got no instinct for this."

Gwen laughs. "Nonsense, Elyan, you just need practice."

"How am I supposed to practice if she hates for me to even hold her?"

"You're gonna to have to," Percival says. "You know I want kids one day. You'll get the hang of it quickly enough."

Elyan sighs. "The things I'll do for you," he casts his glance around to find a sympathetic face, but the closest he can find is Arthur.

Arthur merely snorts and flaps his hand at his brother-in-law. "Don't look at me, I love my kid. _And_ I know how to hold her."

"Arthur, really? Need I remind you that you were not _exactly_ a natural at this when she was born?" Gwen retorts to Elyan's great surprise and delight.

Arthur coughs and averts his attention back to the newspaper he's holding.

"That's what I thought," Gwen smirks, then turns to pat her brother on the arm. "You'll get the hang of it, I promise. And I know it's hard for you two to get out here often to visit, but I really appreciate that you do. You and Percival are going to make wonderful fathers one day."

Elyan smiles at her confidence, though he isn't so sure of himself.

"She's beautiful, Gwen," Percival says as he carefully passes Scout back to her.

"Bring her here, love," Arthur says eagerly, and Gwen smiles as she brings her daughter over to her father's waiting arms.

"Speaking of visiting," Percival says, "I was thinking – _we_ were thinking," he rests his hands on Elyan's shoulders possessively, "we would move out here to be closer to you guys when we eventually settle down."

Gwen's jaw drops and she looks so delighted, her brother feels slightly guilty for never having mentioned the idea before.

"Perc—oh, Elyan, that would be so lovely!"

Even Arthur stands with a surprised grin to clap his mate and brother-in-law on the back, Scout braced in the crook of his elbow.

"Cheers, lads, we'd really love to have you closer."

"Sorry," Percival speaks quietly to Elyan. "I know you wanted to wait to talk about it but I thought maybe they could help us figure out the logistics."

"No, you're right," Elyan replies, squeezing Percival's hand under his. Then, addressing the whole room, he says, "I guess she'll have to get used to her uncles whether she likes it or not."

They're all laughing as Gwen sneaks to the kitchen to find something suitable for a celebration.


	3. Nearer

It's hard when Arthur first goes back to work. He plans to put in a good few weeks and make sure things haven't fallen apart in his absence and then make arrangements to work from home at least part of the time.

His colleagues are congratulatory, supportive, and only a little annoying when they make jabs at his expense.

And when he leaves the office his foot is heavy against the gas pedal and he has to remind himself not to rush. Every minute he misses his wife, and the wondrous little creature he's only just met that has stolen his heart.

Sometimes he's forced to stay late, and the guilt gnaws at him. He calls Gwen a couple of times throughout the day, just to hear her voice. Just to ask if Scout has smiled yet, or has she been sleeping, or does she miss him too?

When he gets home he's shattered, but never as much as Gwen. She's usually asleep if she's lucky, or if not she's sitting by the crib or rocking their small daughter to sleep or doing some chore that's been put off.

On this particular night, he enters the house quietly. It's dark, but for a few night lights. He takes off his tie and belt in the living room and hops on one leg, pulling his pants off and unbuttoning his shirt on the way to the bedroom.

He pauses at the nursery to look in on his sleeping daughter, and then turns to the bedroom.

Gwen's just a bundle underneath the blankets, curled into herself, hair tied at the nape of her neck and face relaxed.

He pulls back the covers on his side of the bed and slips beneath, hoping his weight on the mattress doesn't wake her.

He's almost in the clear as he settles in, but she's stirring, so he brushes the hair at her temple and murmurs for her to go back to sleep.

But instead her dark eyes are blinking open and gazing steadily at him, and his heart thumps with affection. She unwraps an arm from around herself and reaches to rub her hand up and down his arm.

His eyes never leave hers when he takes her hand and kisses it. "Sleep, love," he urges with a whisper.

She doesn't retract her hand or turn over or even snuggle into him. Instead she leans forward to kiss him, and it's not a goodnight kiss.

He wants to protest that they both need sleep, and that it's so very late, but it all falls away at the touch of her lips.

Because it's quiet, and the baby's finally sleeping, and it's the kind of late in that small gap before the predawn hours that feels like free time; like there are endless possibilities to fill the distance between now and then.

And she's here, and he's here... and thought stops there.

She's kissing him more fervently and he gives in, moving to pull her body against his, to feel where it dips and molds to his and makes him feel whole. He delights in how it's changed; how it's softer and wider in some places, and the subtle changes in the way she responds to him.

And even though it's late, and even though he knows he needs to rise early, and that Guinevere has an appointment in the morning, and that the baby might wake at any moment, they take their time with each other.

And they cling so tightly to one another, as if they might merge somehow. And then they do, in a way.

He's rocking into her, and her gasps are lost somewhere between his ragged breaths.

There are no words, but touching and looking and joining and skin sliding against skin. His mouth explores blindly over shoulder and collarbone and soft, soft skin.

Her hands are clutching, and stroking, and always pulling him nearer.

He loves her so much it makes his chest ache with longing even when he's in her arms. So he loses himself in her warm, loving eyes and tender curls; her sweet mouth and freckles and delicate arching curves.

When she quakes beneath him with a silent cry he stills for a few precious moments to admire her glorious undoing, and then she's curling herself around him and urging him on to his own release.

Her graceful hands smooth over his fluttering abdomen as he sucks in shallow breaths, dizzy with the high of his powerful climax, and she's lulling him back to earth.

He feels the depth of her love for him in the texture of her fingertips against his skin, and the way the soles of her feet slide against his calves and her breath comes in lengthening puffs against his shoulder.

There's a stillness that settles over them when they're perfectly wrapped in each other and neither is moving nor speaking.

Heartbeats and breathing restored to normal, they become deep and drawing as they sink away into dreams.

Neither can say who falls asleep first, because this time it happens together.


	4. Daddy Issues

Out of breath, Arthur squeezes past the row of plush leather rolling chairs to find the empty seat near the head of the conference table.

He settles in, clearing his throat and smoothing his tie down. "Sorry. Er... What did I miss?"

Merlin snorts, sliding him a page of notes. The rest of his colleagues stare at him with peculiar expressions, and Arthur fumbles uncomfortably under their scrutiny.

"Er, carry on," he nods. Most of them turn their heads back to the graph that's being presented, but a few linger.

He ducks his head and digs around for a pen that works as the presentation continues.

"…which is something we're aiming to complete early next year. Arthur, have you got the projections?"

"Hmm?" He looks up suddenly as someone kicks him under the table to find the whole room focused on him once more.

"Oh, right, yes, I've just got them here—" he twists and rummages in his briefcase for the file, wishing he had been a bit more prepared.

He'd been all ready to leave when Gwen had stormed out of the bathroom with her hair dripping wet.

"I cannot _bloody _believe this!" she said. "We need to move. I cannot deal with this water issue anymore. It's just—how am I meant to...?" she gave frustrated growl and Arthur struggled to temper his amusement.

Even in a mood like this, he found his wife adorable.

"I'm going to need you to take her to daycare, Arthur."

His smile fell.

He'd be late. He should have anticipated the extra time. Shaking his head, he banished the selfish thought and an understanding smile reclaimed his lips.

"Don't worry, love, I'll handle it," he gave her a reassuring kiss that calmed her slightly, and then he was off to take his daughter to daycare.

And now here he is, groping in his briefcase, searching for the right file which he'd been meticulous about placing in there the night before. He finds it eventually, along with one of Scout's teething rings. _How did that get in there?_

"Ahem, yes, here," he passes the copies around the table. "As you can see, this quarter's performance was..."

He pauses when he realizes that nobody is looking at the report, but rather most of his colleagues seem to be staring somewhere to the left of his head.

"I'm sorry, is there—?" He turns around to look at the wall behind him. "Is there something…?"

"Um, Arthur…it's just….you have something on your shoulder."

Arthur tilts his chin down to find a patch of spit up on his shoulder.

_Oh god_.

Now he remembers. He'd picked her up quickly and Gwen had been about to warn him when it happened, right on his newly ironed shirt.

He was going to change it when he received a phone call, and he'd become so distracted that he'd forgotten.

_Brilliant._ Now everyone probably thinks he's a complete slob.

"Oh, yes, that's… Right. Um, well, as I was saying, if we compare this quarter's performance with the figures from last year…"

Somehow, he makes it through the rest of the meeting without any more embarrassment, though he suspects they are having a hard time taking him seriously with the contents of his daughter's stomach on his shirt.

It isn't anything he isn't used to, but it hardly helps him keep up his professional appearance.

Arthur is one of the last to exit the room, and one of his colleagues rests a hand on his clean shoulder as she passes. "I wish I could tell you it gets better," she says.

He wonders if she meant to be reassuring. He just nods, perplexed, as she parts with a sympathetic frown.

Merlin comes up behind him when they are the only two left and pats his back. "Maybe keep an extra shirt in the office?"

"Thank you for your infinite wisdom, _Merlin_," Arthur replies.

He barely dodges his father on the way back to his office. Settling behind his desk, he picks up the phone and dials his wife, who attempts to soothe his ego in between fits of hysterical laughter.

* * *

"Arthur...?" Merlin asks hesitantly.

Arthur just raises his eyebrows as he stands before his desk, digging through his paperwork.

"Um...what's on your back?"

"It's a turtle, Merlin," he rolls his eyes. "What do you _think_ it is? It's my daughter."

"You brought Scout to work?"

"Please, continue to shower me with your astute observations. It's truly humbling to be in the presence of such a great mind."

"But...isn't she a bit small?"

"She's a baby." Arthur brushes past him, unaware of the tiny hands flailing at Merlin.

"Well, it's just...everyone else has brought their grown children today."

"And I've brought my child, who is at present not fully grown. Are we discriminating?"

"No, it's just... Nevermind," he turns to go, but something holds him back. At great risk to his person, he ventures to ask, "Just to be clear, Gwen knows she's here, right?"

Arthur's glare is sufficient to answer his question.

"That's what I thought," Merlin mutters, closing Arthur's door behind him.

Up until the moment Arthur needs to use the copier, he's convinced it had been a great idea. Twenty minutes later he's still leaning against the machine, documents in hand, staring bored stiff at the wall as every person that passes within a fifteen foot radius comes to fawn over the gurgling infant attached to his back.

* * *

"…and it gives me great pleasure to present your new chairman, Arthur Pendragon," his father beams proudly, and the room erupts in applause.

Arthur smiles bashfully as Gwen rubs her hand over his back with loving pride, and he leans to kiss her before standing up.

He's rehearsed his speech so many times in his head, he doesn't even need the note cards he brought along. At least without them he might make a better impression, he hopes.

He smiles at the large audience, spotting friends, colleagues, and many unfamiliar faces that he vows to make an effort to know when he assumes his new position.

This is only the beginning.

Striding toward the stage, he tries to exude as much confidence as he can muster, but he falters when he feels a small tug on his hand.

It's Gwen. She caught up with him, but he isn't sure why.

She's shoving the note cards into his hand and kissing him on the cheek as he looks at her with confusion, since he had _just_ told her he didn't need them.

She smooths her hand over the side of his jacket and gives him an encouraging smile before slipping gracefully back to their table.

Arthur schools his expression again, focusing on the task ahead of him and continuing toward the stage. Ascending the small set of stairs, he shakes his father's hand before taking the podium.

He sets the cards down and starts his speech with a cheesy joke which the audience obligingly laughs at.

As he waits for silence to return, his eyes roam the auditorium, taking in the scene before him. His gaze falls on his wife, who looks incredibly lovely, and he draws confidence from her presence.

He smiles and continues his speech. It's rousing and poignant, and they laugh and applaud in all the right places.

His chest swells with pride, and he sees it reflected in his father's eyes.

It is a crowning moment that he knows he'll never forget.

As he returns to his seat with a big grin on his face, his wife leans over to kiss him one more time, whispering in his ear, "I think we need to keep your washing separate from Scout's from now on."

He gives her an odd look, wondering what inspired her to mention it at that moment, but then she's pressing something into his hand.

He squeezes the soft fabric in his palm underneath the table, thumb stroking over it as he tries to deduce what it could be.

When he thinks no one is looking, he scoots back a little so he can examine it in his lap.

A tiny, white, fuzzy sock rests in his hand with a few fibers from his coat stuck to it. He blanches, glancing over at his wife who's smiling and applauding the current speaker.

At that moment, all he can think is _thank god for this woman._

* * *

**A/N:** Thank you for reading and for your kind reviews!

To Sherri, who is aghast that I refer to their baby as a 'creature': I am writing with Arthur's experience in mind as a first-time father and (depending on which story you choose to pin this to) as an only child who probably has no experience with babies. He is awed, fascinated, and completely in love with his first child, and I think part of that fascination is trying to wrap his head around how she came into being. For now she is a beloved little mystery, and as she grows he will begin to see her as her own small person.

Or perhaps she will always be his little creature... :)


	5. Adjusting

Gwen looks up from where she has been chopping vegetables to see Arthur walking in with a sullen creature clinging to his neck. She glances at the kitchen clock to confirm her suspicions, though the look on his face is enough.

Her daughter's sparkly red slipper-clad feet dangle beneath where his arms brace her under her bottom, and her small face is tucked into his neck.

"Oh, sweetheart. Again?"

Arthur clutches their little girl protectively against him as Gwen comes to brush the hair away from her face. Her already red-rimmed eyes glisten with the threat of new tears, and Gwen coos as she strokes her back softly.

"Come on, baby, let's get you a bath, okay?"

Scout nods glumly, and Arthur gives his wife a soft peck on the lips before taking the child to the bathroom to get her ready.

"We have to get her going with this, Arthur," Gwen says as she leans in the doorway. His back slumps where he kneels in front of the tub.

"I know," he sighs, retrieving the small floating toy to put into his daughter's reaching hands. "It's just every time I call to check in, I get this terrible feeling like she must be so scared."

Atticus butts his way into the bathroom and laps at the tub water as Arthur strokes his fur absently.

Gwen purses her lips, moving to perch on the toilet lid. "It's the same for me, love, but we have to let her experience that and realize it's not the end of the world. She's never going to get used to the idea of school if we don't let her."

Arthur is quiet, his expression pensive. Gwen sinks to the floor beside him and grabs the baby shampoo, but then he's taking it gently from her hands to do it himself. He massages it into his daughter's dark curls, working up a lather.

"I was just thinking... What about home school? Maybe that would be easier, and then later we–"

"Arthur," his wife says gently, "We've been over this. She needs to be socialized. She needs to learn how to be away from us for a few hours a day."

"Nobody told me about this part." He shakes his head. "They just said we'd have a hard time sleeping during the first year, and that she'd be a nightmare the second year."

Gwen smooths her hand over his back and grips his shoulder, wrapping her arms around him and pressing a soft kiss against his neck. "I know, love. But she's going to keep growing whether we like it or not."

"Not under my watch," he cracks a small smile, expertly finding his daughter's ticklish spot and making her giggle. "You are going to stay exactly this size, young lady," he says in his most authoritative voice, grabbing a small, pudgy hand. "Bite sized," he growls, pretending to chomp on her fingers. She squeals and slaps her free hand at the water, splashing her father's shirt.

"Oh!" Gwen laughs, jerking back. Arthur just grins and hoists her up to blow raspberries against her little tummy. Atticus takes advantage of the small gap, stepping up on the ledge and attempting to get into the bath.

"No, Atty," Arthur laughs, setting his daughter down and lugging the dog away. "Should have closed the door. You know he can't resist the bath."

"I know, but then he just whines on the other side and paws at the door and I feel bad."

Arthur turns his head sharply, arching his brows at her.

"What?" Gwen says innocently, then averts her gaze as she gets his point. "Okay, fine. But if you're going to keep leaving work early to rescue her from daycare, then I'm not gonna shut him out."

"Hardly fair," Arthur frowns, pulling Scout upright as Gwen hands him a towel to dry her off.

"Da!" she shrieks suddenly, and Arthur smiles, shushing her.

"Yes, I'm right here," he coos, rubbing her down.

"Here," Gwen brings him Scout's tiny dressing gown to wrap her in, and then lifts her into her own arms to take her into the nursery. "Your father called earlier."

Arthur grunts from the bedroom where he's changing his shirt. "What did he want?"

"To see his little angel, of course."

"Mmm, maybe he can babysit," he says only half-jokingly.

"Ooh, I like that one," Gwen grins, stretching a hand out to trail down his chest, appreciating the way the garment clings to his muscles. He snatches her hand before it reaches his waistband and kisses it with a seductive smirk.

"So I suppose that's a yes on the babysitting idea?"

Gwen shrugs. "If you can part with her for a second." A frustrated whine sounds from behind Arthur's legs where he is blocking Atticus's passage. "Might need to send Mr. Nanny along, too," she chuckles.

"Oh, he'll love that. That's a brilliant idea," he scoops Gwen against him to kiss her more thoroughly this time. "In fact," his voice becomes a low rumble, "how about we do it over a weekend?"

His hands roam over her back and downward, and Gwen can tell he's full of ideas. "If you think he'll agree," she replies softly.

"Guinevere, he'd take a week off work for her if we asked him to."

"I know, but are you sure he can handle it?"

"He's a little rusty, but he raised me, didn't he? And anyway, he has help. And if we throw Atty into the deal, we'll know she's in good hands. Good...paws?"

"Well, it's a start," Gwen admits with a huff of amusement. "If not for her, then for us. As long as you won't be all mopey."

"You're the same, baby. I'm just whinier about it."

"Too right," she grins. "But I think we can distract each other for a bit."

"Is that a promise?"

Scout lets out a loud squeal, and then she's crying out, "_Mumma!_"

Gwen gives him a flirtatious simper before turning to back their daughter, who hates to lose their attention.


	6. New Words

"Fuck." Gwen slams the brakes at the flood of red tail lights in front of her, blurring as the windshield wipers make a pass. She really needs to get them replaced.

"Fuh," she hears an echo from behind her, and Gwen's eyes dart to the rearview mirror where she glimpses her tiny daughter strapped into the carseat, clutching her favorite stuffed animal.

"Oops! That's not—baby, we don't say words like that, okay? Mummy didn't say that."

Her daughter stares impassively. "_Fuh!_"

"Brilliant," she sighs. "Make sure you say that to your grandfather. That'll really get me some points."

Her relationship with Uther has improved significantly over the last year or so, especially since she and Arthur had produced the foul-mouthed little piglet in her backseat that he loves so dearly, but she nevertheless suffers occasional pangs of insecurity regarding her father-in-law's opinion.

Even if she hates herself for it. And even if she'd spent years helping Arthur try to get past his own insecurities about his father.

He was just a hard man to please.

Her phone rings and she uses the car's Bluetooth function to patch the call through the speakers.

"Hi," she greets her husband.

"Hi baby," Arthur's voice sounds. "Are you on your way?"

"Yes, we're just stuck in traffic on the A1. Remind me to get the wipers changed when we bring the car in next; I can barely see."

"I can do that. We don't need the mechanic to do it," Arthur insists, and Gwen rolls her eyes.

"_Da!_ Dada!"

"Hallo Scout, are you being a good girl for Mummy?"

"Dada fuh!"

"Did she just say—?"

"So I was thinking um," Gwen cuts him off quickly, "For that dinner we could just pick up some veg at the market and I can make that casserole you like?"

"Um, yeah, that sounds great. Father's making the—"

"Fuh! Dada. _Fuh!_"

"What is she saying, Gwen?"

"Oh, you know what? I can't hear you very well, sweetheart! I think traffic is picking up. I'll see you soon! Love you," she sputters, ending the call.

A few moments later a message appears on the LCD screen.

_Love you too. Drive safe._

Sighing, she looks at her daughter in the mirror.

"We need to teach you some new words before that one sticks. I already got in trouble with your Daddy when I accidentally taught you 'shit.'"

"Sit. Sit sit shhhit! _Mumma!_ Shit!"

Gwen's hand flies to cover her mouth.


	7. Room to Grow

"_Arthur!_" Gwen yells from across the house, and he cowers a little at her tone.

He racks his mind, trying to anticipate what he's done wrong.

"Yes, love?" He hopes whatever it is can be resolved quickly.

"Come here."

_Uh oh_.

He drags himself up from his desk and trudges to the living room to find a very unimpressed Gwen sitting with Scout in her lap.

"What. Is. _This_?" she asks, presenting their daughter's bare feet, which are sticking out of her onesie pajamas.

"Um… Scout's…toes?" he scratches at the back of his head. He knows exactly what she's referring to, but he's hoping by some miracle she hasn't noticed.

She just glares at him.

_Right._ He should have known. Nothing gets past her. Not even the super-secret surprise party he'd attempted to throw for her birthday the previous month.

"Um, well it's funny, really—"

"Arthur, you know we were saving these? I thought we discussed that! What on Earth possessed you to cut off the feet of her pajamas?"

"I was changing her and she was tripping over herself. They're too small!" he argues defensively.

Gwen looks exasperated. "That's because they're her six month jammies!"

"Well, _so_? Now they still fit her!"

His wife shakes her head. "Sweetheart, I thought I showed you where her new clothes are. She's been growing faster and we're not using that size anymore. I told you we were saving them."

"Saving them? What for?" He threw his hands in the air. "She's hardly going to start shrinking. What use could we possibly have for them?"

Gwen's mouth falls open and he is sure his logic has prevailed, until he registers the look in her eyes that he's all too familiar with.

The one that's reserved for when he's accidentally said something completely idiotic. The one that means he's unknowingly hurt her.

She stands up, handing the child to him, and storms off to their bedroom without another look.

He's in trouble. Worse trouble than cutting-the-feet-off-your-daughter's-pajamas-so-they'll-fit-and-you-won't-have-to-go-rummaging-for-another-pair trouble.

Bouncing Scout absently in his arms, he plunks down on the sofa, rethinking the conversation. His logic had been sound after all, hadn't it?

He jiggles her on his knee, smiling down at her and playing the game she likes where he dips her low and then brings her back up, making different faces each time.

Then he kisses her fine, curly hair and inhales her unique baby scent that he loves.

"_You're_ not angry with me, are you?" he murmurs to her. She just gurgles a bubble of saliva out of her mouth and turns her head away, flinging a curled fist at his chest and squirming her bare toes against his stomach.

Sighing, he stands to walk her down the hallway and strap her into the baby bouncer where he can see her.

"Guinevere," he says softly from the door to the bedroom. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize... I didn't know you wanted to save them. I should have—"

"You honestly can't think of a single reason why I'd want to save them?" she asks, hurt and cross, but talking to him, which he counts as an improvement.

He just stares, agape, wondering what she wants to hear from him.

"Bloody wonderful, Arthur. Good to know your future son or daughter has absolutely no bearing on your thoughts!"

"My future…? Gwen, we _have_ a daughter—"

She looks away from him, and the small movement catches his eye: her wedding ring twinkling in the light from the nightstand where her hand rests against her abdomen.

"Wait," he says, feeling incredibly foolish. "Are you saying… Guinevere, are we…?"

She turns a tearful glance to him, and it's barely a second before he's at her side, sitting on the bed and taking her hand.

"I was so excited," she says softly, the words thick in her throat, "and I was going to tell you, but then you seemed so busy and I started to wonder if you even _wanted_ another—"

"Gwen, _Guinevere_," he says, the words tumbling from his lips as he pulls her close and strokes her hair. "Love, of _course_ I do. Don't ever think that I don't—I want to build a family with you. I love you and Scout more than anything in this world, and I'll love our future children just the same. Don't ever doubt that, even if I can be a complete idiot sometimes—"

"All the time," she mumbles through her tears, catching him off guard, and then they're both laughing, though Gwen's is watery.

Arthur clutches her hand tighter, and it begins to sink in. His eyes prickle with moisture and his heart is filled with wonder as he contemplates who the small being inside Gwen is and how much his world will shift again when he or she arrives.

"How long?" he asks quietly, and Gwen sniffs, smiling faintly.

"Ten weeks, I think. I don't know why it took me so long to notice. I should have realized right off. Even _you_ knew early when Scout was conceived."

Arthur thinks back to that moment, and the whirl of emotions he'd experienced, and then of how much joy his tiny daughter brought to their already blissful life.

"Oh, my god," he laughs suddenly, overcome. "We're having another baby."

Gwen looks up at him, and she doesn't have to search his eyes to see how he feels; he is ecstatic. He watches her face transform from one of trepidation to hope, love, and trust, and his heart swells.

"We are," she grins slowly before pulling his head down to kiss her, and they taste the salt of tears on each other's lips.

They stay that way for a while, and when they withdraw for breath, resting their foreheads together and absently stroking each other, Arthur says:

"I promise I won't ruin any more of her clothes. But Guinevere, you know we can get new clothes for the baby if we need to."

"I know," she sighs, her breath hitching. "It's just when I was growing up, my mother recycled all of our clothes, even between me and my brother."

"It's alright, love, we don't have to worry about that. But I promise we'll do this together."

"Thank you, Arthur," she smiles softly. "You're a wonderful father, and the best husband I could ever have wished for."

He waits for the _even if you're an idiot most of the time_, but it never comes.

* * *

**A/N:** Somehow these have been roughly in order up until now, but it will probably not be as linear going forward. Thank you for your comments! I appreciate them all.


	8. 999

"Where's the off button?" Arthur groans, his eyes smudged and crinkled with weariness. "This is starting to remind me of sharing a flat with Merlin."

Scout has been wailing ceaselessly, and nothing seems to remedy it. They've checked her nappy, fed her, taken her temperature, sang to her, put her in her bouncer; it's useless.

Gwen heaves a sigh that's part exhausted laughter, part resignation. She's got a wired look about her as she meticulously folds towels at the coffee table. It seems to be the only thing that keeps her from going mental.

"Oh, come now, he's not that much of a crybaby."

Arthur snorts as he rubs his eyes. "You know what I mean. When Morgana was over every night. Ugh."

"You probably could have moved out sooner. You didn't _have_ to wait until you met me."

"Yeah, yeah, I know," he tilts his head back against the wall, lifting it slowly and letting it fall back with a thud. Then again. And again.

"Don't you start that," she warns him. "If you blind yourself, you're still raising this child with me."

"Have pity on a blind man, Guinevere," he pouts, tugging at her shirt dramatically.

She swats him away and his hand falls limply.

"I think I'm going deaf, too. Seriously. I think my ears are ringing. It's like... this terrible high pitched whining."

"Nope, that's your daughter. She sounds just like you."

"Oho," Arthur laughs at that. "Ouch. Oh, god," he flops over, his head falling into Gwen's lap.

She frowns, the towel she was folding hovering mid-air. Then she drops it in favor of lying back and to stroke her husband's hair listlessly.

"We have _got_ to get Merlin back over," she admits first. She knows Arthur's been thinking about it.

"I know," he mumbles against her thigh. "He's like the baby whisperer."

"Maybe we can trap him and keep him in the cupboard for times like this."

Arthur chuckles deliriously and it becomes a groaning half-sob. "I need sleep."

"Me too, darling," she says. "Me, too."

"Hand me my mobile, would you love?"

She grabs it off the end table and deposits it on his chest. Arthur thumbs the keys rapidly for a few moments and then he's setting it on the coffee table.

"Done."

"What did you do?"

"Better you're not party to it."

Ten minutes later there's a frantic knocking at the door and Gwen barely has time to shift herself off the couch before the door unlocks itself and Merlin comes barreling into their living room.

He makes a frenzied survey of the room, frowning at how relaxed his friends look, draped lazily over the couch.

"What's—?" he starts to ask, then turns his head sharply toward Scout, who has apparently found a new set of lungs to burn through.

With a wary glance toward her parents, Merlin moves to pick her up and cradle her against him.

She gives a hiccuping cough and a few more lack-luster sobs and then she's mercifully quiet, her tiny fingers flexing and gripping against Merlin's jumper.

"There we go," he murmurs softly as she settles. "That's a girl. That's it, here I am."

Merlin glances up to see the door left open and moves across the room to close and lock it again.

"_Really_, 999 Arthur? That's just brilliant, isn't it? Any time you need a nanny you think you can just..."

The words die on his lips as he looks up to find his two best friends curled around each other, passed out in one another's arms.

"...Brilliant," he mutters, looking around the room.

Begrudgingly, he switches off the lamp next to them and takes Scout into the nursery to tell her stories about an infuriating, selfish prat and the silly, wonderful woman that put him in line. Mostly.


	9. Excuses

They're in denial when the alarm goes off.

"It's your turn," Arthur mumbles into his pillow, but they both know he's lying.

"You're just too lazy," she grumbles back while he's rolling to gather her against him in the tangle of the duvet.

He nuzzles her shoulder and grinds against her just long enough that she feels the flickering of desire, and then he heaves himself up.

"Well, I guess you're right, it's my turn," he sighs loudly, but she's already caught his waist and she yanks him back down on top of her.

"You bastard," she murmurs, giving him a close lipped kiss. Time is precious, and they haven't got enough for teeth-brushing.

He chuckles and obligingly moves against her. It's slow and indulgent only for a few moments, and then they're frantically separating blankets and pushing off clothing until it's just them.

The snooze alarm goes off right before they finish, and Gwen curses and flails her arms around to stop it as she comes undone.

Her hand falls limp, just short of the alarm button as she utters a final satisfied moan, and Arthur collapses over her on one elbow with his head tucked into her neck, reaching out an an arm to put an end to the blaring noise.

"You'd better get going," she says after a few precious moments of breathing quietly together. "Unless _you_ want to come up with the excuse this time. I'm running out of them."

He groans, flopping over lazily beside her. "Car trouble?" he raises an eyebrow at the ceiling.

She plays with his hand, rolling her head on the pillow to face him. "Again? They're going to start suggesting we look into a new car."

He grins, strands of gold sticking up around his head as he shakes it. "Fine, I'll just tell them my wife is a little minx that won't let me out of bed."

She narrows her eyes and then thrashes around under the covers, pushing and kicking at him until he's laughing and falling out, forcing him to stand up.

"Okay, fine," he chuckles, grabbing for his pants. He throws one more look at her as he's leaving the room. "You'd better be right there, just like that, when I get home," he winks.

She scrunches her nose at him and he smiles before disappearing. She hears him murmuring in the next room as he wakes their children, and then there's a clanging in the kitchen as he gets their breakfast and lunches sorted.

Gwen yawns and rolls over, closing her eyes with a smile.


	10. Sharing (Part I)

"Okay, sweetheart, put your crayons down for a minute and eat your lunch. Mummy needs to clean up."

Setting the bowl in front of her daughter, she turns back to attend to the dishes, but Arthur's voice draws her attention and she looks over her shoulder.

"Wait, wait, wait," he was saying quickly and hushed, stooping over to grab Scout's hand where her fork hovered mid-air.

"Arthur, what are you...?" Gwen rests a hand on her hip.

"I have to check if it's poison, remember?" he asks Scout solemnly, guiding the fork she held to his mouth to take a large bite of her mac n cheese.

Brows knit in concentration, he glances toward the ceiling and tilts his head from side to side as if waiting for something to happen.

"Is it okay, Daddy?" Scout asks nervously after a few seconds.

"I don't know, sweetie, I need to make sure. Give us another bite. That's it. Mmm, thank you."

"Is it okay now, Daddy?"

"Hmm. Yep, I think it's okay this time. Eat your lunch," he pecks her head and stands up to face Gwen's amused glare.

"If you want me to make extra, just tell me," she says accusingly.

Arthur looks offended. "Really, Guinevere? I'm a grown man. I don't eat that stuff. I'm just looking out for her well-being."

"How long do you think she's going to fall for that?"

"I've no idea what you're talking about." He turns away with a wink.


	11. Sharing (Part II)

"...And I'll have the ice cream sundae, thank you," Arthur smiles politely, handing the menu back to the waiter.

He adjusts the napkin on his lap as the decadent dessert is placed in front of him, but before he can lift his spoon Gwen is digging out a sizable bite for herself and lifting it to her lips.

"Guinevere!" he laughs, outraged.

"Can I have some of Daddy's ice cream too?" Scout fidgets in her booster seat between them.

"No, sweetheart, Mummy is checking if it's poisoned."

Arthur snorts, dipping his spoon for a taste, but Gwen fights him off with her own. He gapes in disbelief and she frowns at him reprovingly.

"How come Daddy checks my food and you check Daddy's food?"

"Well," Gwen considers, taking another large scoop and making sure to get enough hot fudge and caramel on it. "Mummies and Daddies have superpowers, and we have to use them to take care of each other."

"Oh," Scout replies, as if it makes any sense.

"You know what, baby?" his wife asks him, sliding the dish over to her side of the table and shaking her head. "I don't think this is safe for you."

He raises a brow but keeps his expression guarded under the watchful eyes of his daughter.

Gwen's gaze is leveled at him with a challenging smirk as she lifts another spoonful to her mouth, pink tongue swiping over her lips.

"_Really?_ What are the chances..." He says incredulously, but becomes distracted as he watches her tongue.

"I know," Gwen agrees sympathetically, dragging her spoon through the extra caramel that's drizzled on the plate. "It really is a shame."

"Daddy, you can't eat it if it's poison," a small voice chimes in.

"No," he sighs in defeat, then takes a hearty gulp of his ice water. "I guess not."


	12. (Over)Sharing (Part III)

"And how are you enjoying school, sweetheart?"

"Mmm, it's okay," she answers thoughtfully, smashing a pea under her fork with determination. "But sometimes I get in trouble."

"Oh," Uther manages to sound serious, but everyone at the table struggles to keep a straight face. "In my day when you got in trouble, you got a good whipping or a spanking. But I don't suppose spanking is allowed anymore, so I think you'll be just fine," he says with a conspiratorial wink.

Gwen is continually impressed with how well Uther fits the grandfather bill, but she thinks perhaps it's his way of showing how much he's changed since the trials of raising his own children.

Scout stares curiously at her grandfather before tilting her head with the strange, birdlike quality that is all her own. "Sometimes Daddy spanks Mummy when they go to sleep. Does that mean Mummy's in trouble?"

Arthur chokes and at the same time Merlin spits out some of his drink.

"Wow," Morgana is the least fazed, giving Arthur an impressed smirk. "I didn't know you had it in you, little brother."

Gwen blushes furiously and attempts to distract her daughter from saying anything else incriminating.

Uther is graciously silent for a few moments, eyes decidedly fixed on the napkin he's using to dab at his mouth, and then he clears his throat. "Well…that's…uh, that's between your Mum and Dad. Now, what does my little angel want for Christmas?"

Gwen's panicked gaze darts to her husband's and she stifles a small giggle at how his ears have gone pink at the tips, but there is a certain glimmer to his eyes that betrays his own amusement.

"""

Arthur insists on washing the dishes after dinner, more from the urge to hide than from any real desire to help. He knows from experience that Morgana has no qualms about grilling him with awkward questions in front of their father and would just as soon avoid any further humiliation for the evening.

Gwen doesn't blame him, finding herself perhaps a little overeager to join his retreat on the pretense of assisting with the drying.

"Did you know she saw us?" she asks quietly.

"God, no!" Arthur whispers back. "She usually sleeps so soundly, and anyway I'm rather distracted when we're...you know..."

"Oh my god," Gwen giggles. "Maybe we should start locking our door."

"How many other people do you think she's mentioned it to?"

"Oh, shit," she laughs, covering her face. "Shit. Do you think she's said something to her teachers?"

"I hope not. They might think I'm abusing you or something."

Gwen's unexpected burst of laughter was sure to give them away. "That or they've all realized you have a spanking fetish and they'll never be able to look at you the same again."

Arthur lets the pot he's holding slip from his hands into the water, splashing his shirt. "I do _not_ have a fetish!" he turns on her with an indignant glare, but he can't help cracking a smile at Gwen's face.

"Don't worry, I love you anyway," she beams, teasing.

"You think this is funny, don't you?" He grabs a hold of her waist with his wet hands and pulls her against him as she yelps.

"No, no!" she shrieks, bordering on hysterical. "You're getting me wet. Arthur, you're—"

Her laughter dissipates as he kisses her, leaning her over.

"That's it," he declares as he draws back to look at her again, and her eyes search his curiously. "We're gonna have to switch schools. They're all going to think I'm a pervert now."

* * *

**A/N:** To my lovely Guest reviewer: Yes, I am fond of TKAM. I chose Atticus on a whim as a cute dog name for The Happiest Place on Earth and thought little of it. When I started working on Soft Raptures I didn't have a name in mind for their daughter and decided not to force the issue by trying to think of one just yet. But later as her character began to emerge it just kind of clubbed me over the head and seemed obvious as something cute, appropriate for her personality, and true to what I imagine my version of A & G might have chosen. I certainly didn't intend to make it a theme but it happened naturally anyway, and I do enjoy the parallel of their bond as characters. Atticus is loyal and protective, while Scout is naturally very curious and investigative to the point of getting herself in trouble. So there you have it!


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